Sweet Dreams
by stellarrdrift
Summary: Derek goes to see Stiles after what happened in the pool but he is already sleeping. Nevertheless, Derek learns something interesting. Spoilers for 2.04.


The room was dark. The only light was that which came from the streetlamps outside, spilling onto the floor, a narrow sliver, from the open window he was about to climb through.

"Stiles." Derek says as soon as he was fully inside, although by that point he realizes it is useless. He can clearly hear the consistent deep breaths and the slow steady thump of Stile's heartbeat and he knows that he is already asleep. He's not sure why he's surprised. He had seen the way that Stiles had shambled back out of the school. He knew he had been exhausted, that he would probably sleep as soon as he reached his bed. He was regretting his decision to come here already. In fact, he was wondering why he had even made that decision.

He peers down at the sleeping figure. Stiles is on top of his covers, his chest rising and falling rhythmically, limbs splayed out, stripped to his boxers, as if he was too exhausted to even climb under the blanket. He thought about waking him. Telling him… what exactly? He shudders as he remembers how utterly helpless he had been just a few hours ago.

"I really thought you were going to leave me for dead, you idiot." Even as he said it he wasn't really sure if it was true. What was true, though, was that he had already started kissing his life goodbye, the moment he felt that poisonous tingle rushing through his veins, the moment he realized he could no longer walk. Is this what dying feels like? He had thought.

What was he supposed to think as he was sinking to the bottom of the Olympic sized swimming pool, completely paralyzed. Was he supposed to count on some annoying teenager who hates him to rescue him? Against that thing? The thing that beat him, alpha werewolf Derek Hale? Kind of laughable really, but he wasn't in a laughing mood now.

Now, he's sitting in the dark bedroom of said teenager, watching him sleep, wondering if he should even bother trying to talk to him. Once, Stiles and Scott had been his only friends. Well, that might be stretching it but they had been his allies, that is for sure. Now, they were working against him at every turn, doing any and everything to get in his way, these stupid reckless little _children._

It's bizarre for him to see Stiles like this peaceful, relaxed, eyelashes fluttering slightly from the vibrations of heavy REM sleep. It was so different from his awakened state. He was so relaxed, so calm, beautiful even. Derek pushes the thought away. He should never have come here. He was only the Alpha now because he was the last living Hale. He was the last of his pack, his family. He had to be strong. He had to survive and if Stiles couldn't understand that, then he shouldn't even waste his breath. Right?

Stiles shifts suddenly, grabbing at the mattress, and starts talking into his pillow but his breathing remains steady. He is still sleeping but he's actually moving around quite a bit. A familiar odor drifts from his body, Derek recoiled as he caught the scent.

_Un-fucking-believable_. He rolls his eyes and turns to leave, as quickly as possible. He had no desire to be in the room watching Stiles sleep, with the scent of arousal oozing off of him in waves.

"Mmm, Derek." He has one foot firmly out the window when he hears it. He's frozen. You're imagining things. Let's go. He tells himself. But he lowers his foot the ground and walks over to Stiles' bed, where he can see Stiles' face. His lips are slightly parted. They barely move as the sound comes out low and soft. "Trust me. Trust me."

Derek tilts his head and leans in closer as if being nearer would verify what he was hearing. Stiles only moans again, soft and pleading. He knows he should go. He really should but instead he sits down on the bed. He watches as Stiles' face twitches a bit as he sighs.

"Stiles?" Derek is leaning over him now, not really sure what he's doing, just acting on instinct. "Stiles!"

"Mmm, What?" Stiles' head lolls over, looking up at Derek. "Wha—" He jumps up, pushing Derek away and grabbing his blanket, pulling it around him. "What the hell, man? You don't just wake a dude up like that! Did you climb through my window again? Were you watching me sleep, you creeper? Who are you Edward Cullen? Do you know how to use a door? Seriously? I can teach you?"

Derek stares at him, not bothering to answer.

"Hello?" Stiles is practically panting, out of breath from his rant, his pulse skyrocketing. "Did you drop by for any particular reason, or just wanting to creep me out?"

Derek stands up, he shouldn't have woken him up. It was a mistake. It was a mistake to come here in the first place.

"No reason." He says as he walks towards the window. When he reaches the sill, he hesitates for a moment and speaks without looking back. "What were you dreaming about, Stiles?"

Stiles is off, talking a mile a minute again, but Derek doesn't pay it any attention. He's already halfway out the window. He hears other things, like the quiet pounding heartbeat, the sudden surging of blood, and he smells the light perspiration beginning to form on the small of Stiles' back and he knows. He has his answer.


End file.
